Shoe Shine and Theatre Time
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: Wilson had told House, that for his forty-second birthday, he wanted to go to the theatre. Warning inside the chapter.


_A/n **Wilson had told House, that for his forty-second birthday, he wanted to go to the theatre. **Warning: character death  
_

**Disclaimer: **_If I owned them I would have invested in some new clothes and a sorely needed haircut. But I haven't. Take from that what you will_

_

* * *

_

.

Wilson had told House, that for his forty-second birthday, he wanted to go to the theatre.

House hated the theatre. He could never get away with dramatic plays, operas or ballets. He would much rather sit in his living room or go to the movies. At least there he wouldn't feel like he was sitting in a cloud of pretentiousness and he wouldn't have to try and look presentable.

But, despite his reservations and his dislike, House had booked two tickets for the evening of the 16th May.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to see; Wilson had just waved a leaflet in his face and, with a huge smirk, pointed out a dark blue advertisement. It was fresh from London's West End and had garnered fantastic reviews apparently, both of which Wilson had mentioned as he enthusiastically poked the flimsy leaflet.

House had been told over the phone that the two tickets were booked and were to be picked up from the front booth on the evening itself. No extra booking fee or postal charges. House had smiled as he put the phone down; he liked the theatre already.

.

.

He and Wilson went shopping for new suits two months before Wilson's birthday. Even with his ludicrously fat wallet, Wilson was still wary about parting with too much money for something he would probably never wear again. Plus, he still had that tuxedo from a few years ago that had lain untouched in his closet since he won that now legendary poker tournament. He hoped that would still fit, but he doubted it.

Eventually, with House's encouragement he shelled out $300 which covered the suit itself and a fresh pair of black shoes. House himself spent a little less – it wasn't his birthday after all -- but he still managed to be different by buying a polka dot bow tie.

.

.

A month before his birthday Wilson shined his and House's new shoes before getting the suits pressed, even though had never been worn. He had even picked out which underwear he was going to don and what pair of socks would go with the shoes. He offered to do the same for House but all he got was an over-theatrical eye-roll and barb about being like his mother.

Wilson had done it anyway, not that House knew about it. He'd already set aside House's blue boxers and black socks with white trim.

.

.

It was the 16th of May and House received his tickets from the booth at the front of the theatre. He thanked the petite blonde behind the glass and tucked the tickets into the front pocket of his suit before heading inside.

The usher lead him to their seats. Row 4, seats 18 and 19. A perfect view of the stage but not so close that all he can see were up the noses of the cast.

It wasn't long before the lights in the theatre changed signifying the beginning of the show. House crossed his left leg over his right and adjusted himself to a comfortable seated position, picking off a stray bit of blue fluff that had made its way onto his black socks with white trim. Exactly what Wilson had laid out for him. The bastard was always prepared.

.

.

Wilson died on the 9th May. One week before his birthday and one week before the theatre trip.

As odd as it may seem, _g__reat timing_ had been House's first thought. Not _oh shit_ or _how can this be happening_. Honestly, at first, he thought it was a bit rude of Wilson. All that preparation and money gone to waste. But that feeling was quickly replaced by something all together more melancholy.

He'd hoped the theatre trip would have given Wilson some drive, something to aim for and aspire to see. Aiming to get to forty-two wasn't really as important as getting to forty itself or fifty.

House was pretty sure the plan worked. Wilson had got more of his spark back in the last three months which was in stark comparison with the previous three. The sense of being in limbo had almost evaporated, replaced by a more overwhelming sense of purpose.

It was good. House had been hopeful.

But hope on its own is never enough. He knew that.

.

.

_Wilson would have loved this_. Dramatic family dysfunction on stage was his sort of thing. But Wilson wasn't here. He would never get the chance to be here.

House was here with only an empty velvet chair for company. But despite the situation he found himself in, he was determined.

He was determined to enjoy this damn play, if not only for him, but for Wilson.


End file.
